


to rule; to ravage

by shameless_rogue



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BDSM, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff and Smut, Knifeplay, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder Husbands, Murder Kink, Nygmobblepot Valentine Exchange, Wall Sex, murderers in love, tags are getting weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 08:41:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9713855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shameless_rogue/pseuds/shameless_rogue
Summary: In this universe, Oswald Cobblepot is mayor of Gotham and proud husband of Edward Nygma before he is a murderer. He becomes one, though. No worries.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sir-creepy](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sir-creepy).



> This was written for the Nygmobblepot Valentine Exchange. [Sir-creepy](http://sir-creepy.tumblr.com/)'s prompts were fluff, bdsm and murder husbands, so I tried to fit them all into one fic because why not.

 

Weirdly enough, the first time it happens is on the very first evening of their honeymoon. They're sitting in a restaurant, Ed is busy messaging Jim Gordon for no reason at all, and Oswald runs out of patience after a minute of observing the thin white line he's pressing his lips into. 

"Relax for a second," he murmurs, and Ed lifts his gaze to meet his. He looks almost surprised by the interruption. 

"I'm sorry?" 

"I said, chill the hell out." Oswald reaches over the table to lay a gentle hand on Ed's wrist. He peels his fingers off the phone, actually having to fight the firm grip Ed has on it. Ed watches with clear amusement without bothering to help. 

The phone finally slips out of his fist. Oswald locks the screen and hides it in one of the inner pockets on the inside of his jacket. 

"So." He puts both of his elbows on the table and rests his chin in his palms to stare at Ed more comfortably. "What's going on in our kingdom?" 

"Nothing much." A waiter approaches with two cups of Irish coffee, and they both have to lean back to let him place the cups on the table. Ed licks into the whipped cream before going on, he even dips his nose in it, and Oswald chuckles softly while reaching out to clean it with his thumb. Ed turns his head to nuzzle his palm, then presses a quick kiss onto the golden ring that’s shining on his finger. "Except for the kids' daily care at school, maybe. Your healthy food plan really is gaining popularity.” 

„More like your plan, actually.” Oswald shakes his head. ”It wouldn’t work for a second without you.” 

A few moments pass with Ed quietly sipping his coffee, probably to hide his smug smile, and Oswald forgetting about his own. He’s mesmerized by the sight of the wedding ring on both of their hands; and, above all, by the man sitting in front of him. He reaches out again to grab his hand, and burns his finger immediately with Ed's hot cup. 

„Ouch,” he hisses out. Ed lifts the hand to his mouth and plants a light kiss on it. 

„Better?” 

„Much better, thank you.” Oswald caresses his cheek before realizing that they're not alone, and pulling away with a soft smile. His coffee has a rich, heavy scent and it burns his tongue too the moment he takes a sip. Ed bursts out laughing. 

„Sorry,” he begins with a grin, „you're way too adorable to resist.” 

„I wasn’t expecting to ever hear adorable and irresistible in the same sentence.” 

„That’s what you are, though.” 

Oswald hides his wide grin behind the cup. „You're making me blush, dear. What did Jim want from you?” 

„Nothing much.” Ed's grip tightens around his hand for only a second, but it's more than enough for him to notice. „Everything's fine.” 

„You won’t spoil tonight for me, if that’s what worries you,” he murmurs into his cup, eyes fixed on Ed's worried face. „Tell me what his problem is and we'll find a way to solve it. Alright?” 

„Yes, well,” Ed clears his throat. „He's been asking me about a murder. He also wished us a nice honeymoon, but frankly, that part felt somehow less honest than the accusation.” 

Oswald doesn't really comprehend the second sentence. 

„About a what?” he asks, his face turning into an unnerving shade of white with large pink spots blossoming on his cheeks. 

„God, Oswald. Relax.” Ed caresses the back of his hand with his thumb. „It has nothing to do with me. Or with you, for that matter. There’s been a dead body near the docks, Jim seems to have found some connection with Fish, and I had to reassure him that your previous associations are nothing to be worried about. That's all.” 

Oswald swallows hard, forcing his hysterical laugh back down his throat. 

„Did he believe you?” 

„He always does. It’s not like he has a choice.” 

„That's right.” He doesn’t exactly feel calm just yet, but he manages a half-hearted smile. „Told you I wouldn’t survive if it weren’t for you.” 

„Of course you would. But I'm not going to let you try.” Ed’s lips curl into a wide smirk; one full of provocation and teasing and pure, heart-warming affection, which makes Oswald's throat tighten and ears blush, Jim and Fish and murder long forgotten. 

„Let's get back to our hotel,” he blurts out, and Ed’s fingers squeeze his with what feels like a promise. 

This is going to be a long night. 

 

It's not always a bad thing to have your entire life recorded by cameras. Just a few hours earlier, Oswald was actually delighted by their presence. It meant that they didn’t have to hire photographers to document the wedding. Ed had invited a few people from the press (only the best of the best, he had promised) and everyone was happy—the reporters got a brief but exclusive interview and lots of visual material to share, and they had their vows recorded on tape, from at least five different angles. Ed's new assistant (his first name might start with a T, but Oswald honestly can't recall it) even offered to edit the whole thing into one video. Oswald has been secretly wondering since then if watching it will feel any similar to watching one of their sex tapes. 

Anyway, he couldn't be happier now that the cameras are all gone, and all he has to focus on is the two of them. They didn't leave Gotham, obviously—neither of them wanted their carefully built and laboriously secured kingdom to fall apart in their absence—but they have chosen to stay in a hotel midst an area of the city neither of them has known before. The streets seem to be darker around here, the night colder and the air dirtier, but Oswald doesn't mind. He throws an arm around Ed's waist and pulls him closer, bathing in the heat radiating from his body. 

"I can't believe we did it," he says randomly, and he earns a soft chuckle from Ed. 

"I can only be something if you don't know I exist. But when you know what I am, I can't be anything then. What am I?" 

Oswald glances up at him with furrowed eyebrows. "I don't know, a secret?" 

"A surprise." 

"Oh." 

"Don't worry, it's my fault. I couldn't make it clear enough. But the point was to describe what our relationship means to the people of Gotham, so I think I'll accept your solution." Ed grins at him, and Oswald presses his elbow in between his ribs before hugging him close again. 

"It's not a secret though," he reminds both Ed and himself. 

"No, not anymore," Ed agrees, and his already wide grin spreads even wider across his face. "Thanks to you, of course." 

"I wasn't the one who snogged you before leaving a meeting room full of cameras." 

"I wasn't the one who kept sexting you throughout the entire meeting." 

"Maybe you should turn off your phone before work." 

"You're telling me?" Ed stops walking, and before Oswald knows, he's slammed against the nearest wall. The bricks are cool and moist against the back of his neck, and Ed's leaning closer to him, pressing him into the wall, staining his jacket. 

"Why, shouldn't I be?" Oswald grins. He lets his hands run under Ed's jacket, wander up his back then drop back down to his ass. He squeezes it once, deliberately, and Ed lets out a soft moan before regaining control. It's Oswald's turn to gasp for air as his thighs are forced apart by Ed's knee, and he jerks his hips forward, trying to press his hardening cock to Ed's. 

They really should get back to their hotel. Just one more second, just another quick taste of Ed's lips and he'll pull away; he'll drag Ed back to that bloody hotel room and fuck him all night or until they both pass out. Romantically, or something. 

That one second doesn't seem to pass. Ed's hands find their way under his clothes—one up his back, the other into his boxers—, his lips are pressing wet kisses onto his neck, and he only opens his eyes to look at the button on the front of Ed's trousers because his normally steady fingers are clearly betraying him. It's only accidental that he glances over Ed's shoulder, into the dark of the narrow street, at the flash of blonde hair vanishing then reappearing in an instant. 

It's accidental and likely life-saving. He freezes for a second, then shoves Ed away only to stand in front of him. 

"Who the fuck are you?" he asks. Not the smartest question, but it will do. 

The boy doesn't answer. He does his little trick again instead, the trick that made Oswald notice him; he dances away from them, moving fast enough to be seen as nothing more than a blurred flash of pale skin and filthy grey clothing. 

"Oh my," Ed mutters, seemingly busy with tucking his shirt back into his pants. Oswald shots him a warning look over his shoulder. "Do you think I should wipe my glasses?" 

"It probably won't help that much," Oswald hisses back. He steps away from Ed, in the approximate direction he last saw the boy disappear. 

He's not too wrong. The boy's still standing in front of him, only somewhat farther away, leaning lazily against a wall. His features seem pretty and fragile, but there's a repulsive aggression in his eyes. 

"What do you want?" Oswald tries again. 

"Are you the mayor?" the boy replies with another question. His voice is slightly feminine and very weak, it sounds as though he's struggling to form the words. Communication must be something he rarely does. 

"Oswald, don't—" Ed starts, tugging firmly on his shirt, but he's a bit late. 

"Yes, I am," Oswald announces with a proud smile. "Now, if you don't mind, we'd like to get back to our dinner before the guests start looking for us." 

He only blinks once, but it's enough to lose sight of the boy. Another blink, a hint of panic rushing through his veins and he's back, standing right in front of them. He looks like he's been running—not exhausted, not sweating, but breathing more heavily than one normally would. 

"You have no guests," he smirks at Oswald. "Just checked." Then he lifts his hand to Oswald's neck, something glimmers in the pale moonlight, and the sharp edge of a knife is pressed against his throbbing pulse. 

Ed chuckles behind him, and Oswald almost forgets about the knife. 

"What the hell?" the boy asks, perfectly interpreting Oswald's thoughts as well. Ed steps forward, his clothes neat and organized again, his face confident as ever. 

"I just find it funny that you can't even keep your little secret to yourself." 

"It's not a secret that I have to kill the mayor." 

"No, that's not what I'm talking about." Ed pauses for a second, stopping close by Oswald's side. Oswald gulps and the knife cuts a thin, reddening line into his skin, but the boy is too focused on Ed to notice. Treacherously trembling, one of Oswald's hands slowly finds its way into the pocket of Ed's jacket. "I might mean survival, I might mean a race; I'm the one dictating your highest pace. I will be needed if you have to flee, no one can catch you unless they have me." 

"What the hell?" the boy repeats, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion; and then his eyes are wide, he's choking up blood, and Oswald pulls the scalpel blade out of his chest only to slam it back in. 

"Speed," he spits. 

He keeps stabbing the boy, does it again and again, cutting through his skin, piercing his lungs, draining life away from his soft, warm flesh. The blade almost slips out of his hand as it gets covered by blood, hot and wet and sticky at the same time. Oswald cries out and grabs the boy by his throat, forcing him to face his killer as he chokes on the mixture of his own bodily fluids, blood and saliva and tears and snot leaking down his chin. 

When the boy ends up flat on the ground, his head lands with a frightening, plangent clash. 

Oswald inhales deeply. He doesn’t look at his filthy hands, not yet; he glances up at Ed instead, his heart pounding with fear and rage and lust at the same time. 

„Are you alright?” he breathes out. There are many reactions he wouldn’t be surprised by—Ed could freak out, Ed could run away, Ed could call the damn GCPD on him and he wouldn’t bat an eyelid—but Ed only raises a single eyebrow at him. 

Oswald wipes the scalpel on his thigh awkwardly. 

„Okay, now I'm confused,” he adds, and Ed's eyes widen slowly as he looks him over. 

„Oh dear,” he mumbles. There’s a moment of awkward silence before he opens his arms and pulls Oswald into a tight hug, blood and scalpel and everything. 

„Are you alright?” Oswald repeats, resting his head on Ed’s chest. He can hear his heartbeat speed up as they both glance at the body. 

„Of course I am,” Ed murmurs into his hair. „Everything's fine.” 

Shock is not exactly what he feels. but Oswald can't find a better word to describe the itching, twitching thoughts swirling around inside his brain. 

"Nothing's fine," he argues wearily, and the words that follow are heavy as they roll off his tongue. "You just watched me kill someone." 

„Yes. And it was thrilling to see.” 

Oswald looks up at him, half-expecting to see the usual joking shine in his eyes, but he can't seem to find any of that in there. 

„Wait a second, are you serious?” 

„Of course.” Ed buries his face into his sweaty locks, and presses a long kiss on the top of his head. „You saved both of our lives, Oswald. I only wish I could have helped.” 

„You did.” Oswald inches closer to breathe in the scent of Ed’s skin. It smells like coffee, tobacco and the perfume he gave him for their first Christmas together. No sweat. No blood. „I needed your riddle—and your knife, you know. Thank god I couldn’t make you throw it away.” 

„Once at forensics, always at forensics,” Ed hums, a bit too amused. 

„Yeah, I can see that. Do you realize that we've got a corpse here?” 

„Um, yes.” Ed gently pushes him away and walks to the boy. He's not bleeding anymore; every last drop of blood he once had inside his veins is surrounding him now, forming a large, shapeless, crimson red pool. Ed crouches next to him, and pokes his stomach with his shirt-covered fist. „Yes, this might be a bit of an inconvenience.” 

Oswald walks around to check for any passers-by or cameras—both for CCTV and for reporters. It’s not like he's paranoid or anything. He returns to Ed then, after he's found nothing, and hands him the scalpel. The fingers that brush against his own are dry and warm and steady, and it’s only now that he realizes that his whole body is trembling. 

„Thank you,” Ed says absently. He kneels to lean closer to the body and observes it for a few seconds with his lips pressed together into a white line. Then, suddenly, he claps his hands and jumps to his feet. „Perfect!” he grins. 

„Perfect?” Oswald echoes numbly. 

„Yes. I don’t think it will be difficult to cut him into smaller pieces. Unless you're fine with leaving him here, of course.” 

„No, I—what the hell, are we going to stick him into a trash bag now?” 

„Do you have a trash bag?” 

„What?” Oswald glares at him. „No, of course not!” 

„Then we'll have to find something else.” 

Oswald watches silently as Ed searches his pockets for anything he could use—old plastic bags, maybe, in case he's not planning to wrap an entire body into handkerchiefs. Which, honestly, wouldn't even make Oswald flinch at this point. 

"You know," he begins then, carefully, as if he was trying to avoid startling an animal. And when Ed turns to him, that's exactly what he looks like—surprised, alarmed, and he has the guilty expression of someone who's just been caught red-handed. 

"Yes?" He shakes his head wildly to get some hair out from behind his glasses. 

"You don't have to do this." Oswald steps to him, and puts an arm around his waist. "We could just call Jim and tell him someone attacked us. It counts as self-defense, right?" 

"Stabbing someone—" Ed freezes for a second as he actually counts the wounds on the boy's torso, "nine times? Without considering to run away? Jim's not going to buy it." 

Oswald swallows hard. "Shit, you're right." 

"We need to hide it, Ozzie. Or just get away before someone notices us. It's all the same to me, but if you want to bury him or something—" 

"That fucker almost killed us," Oswald snaps abruptly, even confusing himself. It's an unusual feeling not to speak well of the dead; an unusual one but not an unpleasant one. "I'm perfectly fine with leaving him here if you can promise I won't get caught." 

" _We_ won't get caught," Ed corrects him immediately, probably without having to think about it. Warmth fills up Oswald's chest, heating up his entire body in lazy waves. 

"We're good to go, then?" 

"Almost." Ed finds a more or less clean handkerchief in one of his pockets, and goes back to the corpse to wipe Oswald's fingerprints off the fragile neck. "You didn't touch him anywhere else, did you?" 

"No, I think not. But he touched me." He crouches next to Ed to take the handkerchief from him, then grabs the boy's wrist and tears the knife out of his fist with his free hand. The grip is stark and rigid, one finger cracks quietly when it's forcefully straightened for a second. By the time Oswald wraps the handkerchief around the knife and sinks the almost innocent-looking packet into his inner pocket, the silky textile is soaked with blood. 

Ed remains silent as he stands up and offers his hand to help Oswald get to his feet. They manage to reach the first corner before he talks again, his voice maybe rougher than normally. 

"What did it feel like?" he asks. Oswald glances at the corpse over his shoulder and under Ed's arm. 

"I'm not sure," he admits. "I wasn't thinking. But it didn't feel bad, or wrong, if that's what you're asking." 

"Oh my." Ed pauses for a second, runs a hand through his hair absently. "I'm so sorry I didn't help you. I really am." 

"You did, I told—" 

"I mean the practical part." Ed interrupts with a wide gesture. "The stabbing him in the chest part. I know it's too late but I really want to try it now." 

"You've cut people open before." 

"Yes," and the _s_ is a long hiss behind gritted teeth, "but those weren't alive. And I wasn't angry at them." 

Oswald glances up at him. "Are you angry at this guy?" 

"He tried to murder you, Oswald!" Ed snaps, his cheeks turning an angry red. "Of course I want to see him suffer! I promised not to let anyone ever hurt you, and now that you needed my protection I messed it up." 

"Eddie." He tugs gently at his hand; then, when Ed is finally slowing his pace, he stands on his tiptoes to press a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. "You can see that I'm alright. I survived. We both did!" 

"Thanks to you." Ed eventually stops walking and cups his face with both hands. "I can only applaud your courage. So I don't intend to imply in any way that you didn't do the right thing; I only wish you hadn't needed to get your hands dirty." 

There must be something in their closeness, in the hot breath they are sharing or in the raw tone of Ed's voice, because Oswald can't help the smirk that’s spreading across his face. 

"I think I kind of like getting my hands dirty," he murmurs softly. He raises a neatly contoured eyebrow, just to make sure Ed gets the hint. And he does, taken from the way his arms clench and one of his hands slides over to the back of Oswald's neck. 

"How dirty?" he asks cheerfully, like he's only inquiring about tomorrow's weather forecast. 

"Dirtier than you could imagine." 

The next thing Oswald knows is that he's being pushed against a wall again, much less carefully this time. Ed braces himself on his elbows on both sides of his head, and leans in to kiss him, biting down hard on his lips. A pained moan escapes Oswald, but then Ed's beginning his way down to his neck, mouthing along his jawline, nibbling his ear hastily, leaving a wet trail of saliva on his skin. One quick kiss pressed onto Oswald's throat and he finds what he's been looking for—the shallow cut their victim left there. Ed pulls on his hair to open up his throat. He kisses it first, gently, like he's trying to heal it somehow, and then suddenly he's sucking on the cut, bruising the already broken skin. 

The sound that comes from Oswald's mouth is halfway between a shaky moan and a weak attempt at laughter. 

"What a kinky vampire you are," he mumbles, already out of breath, but he tilts his head more to give Ed better access to his throat. Ed chuckles and it sounds soft and dark at the same time. 

"The unexpected kind, I'd say." 

"Not that unexpected," Oswald argues, but Ed's down on his knees already and working on the zipper of his trousers. "Yeah, alright, partly unexpected." 

„Told you,” Ed squints up at him, his lips pulling back from his teeth in an enthusiastic grin. Bared and white, those teeth are glowing bluntly in the dim moonlight, and when he leans in to wrap his lips around Oswald’s cock, he looks almost animalistic. His teeth don’t scratch the thin skin though (the result of the two long years they've spent together now), his mouth feels hot and soft and wet around Oswald. 

Saliva is coating his cock, slick and sticky at the same time like the blood still drying on his hand; and he buries his fingers in Ed's hair, tangles them into the neatly combed locks, pulls him in closer, deeper. The pleased hum he earns vibrates through his groin, sending hot waves of numbness up his spine.  

"God," he groans before pulling on Ed's hair again, forcing him to lean back this time. Ed laughs softly as he lets go; Oswald's cock falls from his mouth with a wet, popping sound. 

He looks astonishing, Oswald notes, his vision still blurred and unfocused. Ed's sitting on his heels now, his lips a bright red, a drop of saliva leaking from them onto his chin. His glasses are fogged up by his own breath, and almost entirely hidden behind his long fringe that has sprung free from his impossibly tidy hairdo, thanks to Oswald's ruffling and pulling. He must be finding it hard to see anything but he stays like this anyway, his fingers drawing soft circles on Oswald's hips, his mouth in a gentle smile, waiting for permission to continue. 

"God, you're beautiful," Oswald breathes out finally, and grabs his shoulder to pull him to his feet. "Come on, my turn." 

"Forget it, now." Ed's eyes darken for a split second. Oswald can't know what they look like afterwards because suddenly he's spun around and pressed to the wall again, his chest rising and falling heavily, pushing against the cool bricks. 

Ed steps closer to him, his erected cock, still inside his trousers, touches Oswald's lower back. A demanding whine escapes Oswald when he feels Ed letting go of his hips, but then there's the sounds of a zipper being pulled down and the rustle of clothes on skin, and Ed's holding him again, earning a pleased hum as an answer. 

He spits on his free hand, and traces a wet finger up Oswald's thigh. His breath is hot inside his ear as he leans close, whispering something at the same time as pressing his finger in. Oswald's breath hitches. 

"What?" he manages, not quite remembering what Ed's just said. Ed chuckles softly, then presses a kiss in the crook of his neck, and another finger next to the previous one—not pushing inside yet, just keeping it there as a reminder. 

"I said look at him," he repeats, his voice still husky. Oswald turns his head to obey before he could think about his words, and Ed adds his second finger. His other hand comes up to fold around Oswald's neck. "Not me; _him,_ " he hisses. 

"What," Oswald rasps, his head already dizzy with the lack of air. Ed twists his fingers without further explanation, and he almost cries out but the sound dies in his squeezed throat. 

He understands, then. He can't recall when he closed his eyes but he opens them now, and glances at the narrow street they've come from. They're still close enough to the corner to see past it easily; the corpse is still lying on the broken asphalt, hair and skin white as a ghost, blackened gore contouring his slender torso. 

"You did this to him," Ed whispers, his voice full of lust and lacking judgement. "I'm going to ask you again, how did it feel?" 

Oswald fights to comprehend what he's saying; he fights for breath to be able to answer. 

"Why don't you just try it yourself?" he spits, slowly starting to rock his hips to meet the thrusts of Ed's fingers. 

"Next time we meet a totally incompetent assassin, sure." 

"I was being—oh fuck—serious!" The idea that comes to him shines up in his mind in a quick flash, too fast to grasp properly, too exciting to forget. Ed pulls his hand away, spits again to moisten his cock and lines it up with Oswald's ass, its tip already pushing against his rim. 

"What do you mean?" he asks, almost casually. 

"How the fuck do you manage this multitasking?" Ed's grip tightens around his throat, completely depriving him of breath for a second. He's choking by the time Ed releases him, the sight of the dead boy partly covered by the colorful spots playing on the edges of his vision, hot, blind pain throbbing through his body, down into his cock. 

Ed pushes into him frustratingly slowly. "So," he goes on without being disturbed by Oswald's desperate struggle to get his lungs to function again, "what did you say again?" 

Oswald groans, his hands reaching behind to grab Ed's ass and pull him closer. 

"Stop teasing, damn it," he hisses. One of his fingertips brushes against the pocket Ed normally keeps his scalpel in, and he remembers what he's supposed to repeat. 

He squeezes Ed's hip with one hand, the one that's not smeared with blood, and forces him to push all the way inside. Ed's head drops to his shoulder, he buries his face in the crook of Oswald's neck. 

"Oh my," he breathes, his voice muffled by Oswald's flesh. He bites into it, his teeth sharp enough to break skin if he doesn't let go in time, and he thrusts again, easing Oswald onto his tiptoes so they can both move more freely. 

Oswald's other hand finally finds the scalpel in a completely random pocket on Ed's jacket. He twists to make Ed lift his head and look at him; and when he does, Oswald grins at him widely. 

"Let me turn around." 

"Uncomfortable?" Ed asks, but he pulls out without waiting for an answer. He turns Oswald back just as easily as he pinned him to the wall, then lifts him up. Oswald wraps his legs around his waist, and throws his head back with a pleased moan when Ed slides his cock back in. 

"Thought you wouldn't want to keep your knees bent the whole time," he adds, lifting his right hand so Ed notices what he's holding. "And there's something you'll like. That's what I was saying, by the way." 

Ed's lips form a silent O. He almost drops Oswald while reaching for the blade, his hand slightly trembling when he finally has it. 

"It looked better in your hand," he notes, but there's no disappointment in his voice. "Blood suits it. Blood suits you." 

Oswald rolls his hips to remind him what they should be doing in the first place, and Ed, thankfully, responds by finally starting to move, filling him up, stealing his breath. 

"It can be bloody again," Oswald pants. 

"Yes, I suppose so." Ed rests his forehead against Oswald's and steals a kiss, lip bruising lip and teeth wounding tongue. "You're a good man, and a great politician, but you'll always have enemies." 

And in this moment, despite the pleasure filling up his body, Oswald bursts out laughing. 

"What?" Ed scowls. 

"For fuck's sake, Eddie! I mean, I know you're a genius, and your incredible intelligence is one of the reasons I love you so much, but you really are an idiot sometimes." 

"Why do you say that?" Ed repeats, clearly hurt. Oswald doesn't really care. 

"Because I've been telling you to cut me for like five minutes, and you still fail to understand it." 

For a second, Ed looks shocked. Then offended. Then angry, so fucking angry that Oswald flinches back immediately. 

He doesn't bang his head on the wall. Then he does, when Ed grabs his throat with his free hand, and squeezes again, his fingers closing around his neck with a frightening ease. Oswald feels fragile. It's alarming. Then thrilling. 

Then arousing. 

He holds onto Ed's shoulders so he doesn't fall from his lap, and, needing everything that's left of his consciousness to concentrate on the tiny movement of his lips, grins at him. 

"Told you you'll love it," he rasps. 

"Shut your mouth." 

Ed lifts the scalpel to his lips to touch them gently with the side of the blade. It sends shivers down Oswald's spine. He opens his mouth to say something to encourage Ed, but then the scalpel is eased between his teeth, gently but decidedly, and he bites down on it by instinct. 

"Beautiful," Ed murmurs, and lets go of his throat abruptly. Oswald wants to breathe, he almost lets the scalpel fall only to get air in his lungs faster, but a sharp glance from Ed is enough to stop him. 

Ed unbuttons his jacket, his waistcoat, his shirt; his nails that brush against his chest make Oswald moan through gritted teeth. And Ed's still thrusting into him, being the fucking multitasker he is, and his hand is not trembling anymore when he reaches for the scalpel. 

He presses a fingertip to the blade. A short hiss escapes his lips as his skin is opened, and Oswald wishes he could see that moment himself. Ed smears his blood onto Oswald's lips while he removes the scalpel, and Oswald licks it off eagerly, the salty taste filling his mouth the way Ed's cock is filling his ass. Ed being inside him in more one way. He's beginning to feel his orgasm building up just by the thought. 

"Fuck," he whimpers, but he doesn't reach for his cock yet. He'll let himself come when Ed's through, but not before that. 

Ed doesn't seem to notice, or he simply doesn't care, Oswald can't know. It doesn't matter, either. Ed drags a finger across his chest, then the soft touch is followed by something sharper, and Oswald's breath hitches in his throat. 

"Look at you," Ed whispers. He probably doesn't mean to tell Oswald to actually look at himself, but he does anyway, staring down at the bright red cut in awe. 

Ed was wrong. The scalpel clearly suits him just as well as it suited Oswald. It fits perfectly into his slender hand—which may have something to do with the fact that this isn't his first time holding it—and it cuts a neat, straight line from Oswald's collarbone to one of his nipples. One that can only be done with Ed's precision. And one that feels cold where the cool blade touched it, and warm where blood is already beginning to ooze, and, above all, really fucking painful. 

Not bad, though. 

"Do it again," Oswald demands, his voice weaker than it should be. Ed glances up at him like he's disturbed the observation of the cut, which probably is exactly what he did. 

"It's weird," he answers. "I can definitely recall telling you to stay silent." 

Oswald raises an eyebrow at him. "Make me?" 

"What a cliché," Ed says, but his voice sounds loving. He leans in to kiss Oswald, pressing his body to his, his jacket rough against the broken skin on his chest. Without having to look, he cuts him again, between his ribs this time, and Oswald's loud cry is lost somewhere between their lips. 

"Again." 

The next flick of Ed's wrist leaves a cut on his stomach. The next one on his shoulder. Then he reaches behind Oswald with his free hand to scratch his nails along his spine, and the blade presses into his stomach again, lower now, closer to his groin. And that's what finally sends Oswald over the edge. 

"Ed," he mutters, hoping that his tone will be enough to warn him; and Ed immediately wraps a hand around his cock, jerking him off in time with his thrusts. Oswald throws his head back and lets it hit the wall, hardly recognizing the pain he feels while Ed fucks him through his orgasm. 

His head falls to the side while he's trying to learn how to breathe again, and he catches a glimpse of the corpse unintentionally. Nine wounds are cut into his flesh, messy and filled with gore, the work of an unskilled hand. Or just an untrained one. 

It must be the blurriness of his mind, it must be the aftermath of his orgasm that makes him associate the two things, but he can't help but count the cuts on the torso of the dead just in time with Ed's thrusts, he can't help but feel like it's not wrong to romanticize his murder, like it's just fine if he wishes Ed found another way to get inside him, if he wishes he had the courage to tell him to cut his way through his skin to reach his guts if that's the only way they can truly unite. 

"Eddie," he manages, still staring at the corpse. The sight mesmerizes him now instead of scaring him away. He did this. He'd be capable of doing this again. 

"Yes?" 

"Stab me properly, for god's sake." 

Ed glares at him, rage shining in his eyes again. Oswald wants to make sure for a second that he didn't offend him; but then Ed leans to him abruptly, and Oswald's hand is moving with his face way too slowly, sweeping his glasses off his nose by accident. 

It lands on the hard asphalt with a worrying crack. Oswald half-expects Ed to stop and put them back on, but he kicks them away with a quick movement of his foot instead. 

His fingers curl around Oswald's throat. 

"You want me to?" he hisses, and all Oswald can do is nod, pushing his neck deeper into Ed's grip. 

Ed has his hair all over his face now; it's sticking to his forehead in sweaty curls, covering his widened pupils. If he looked animalistic while he was sucking Oswald off, then this is the moment he's turning into a carnivore. 

"You want me to hurt you?" he repeats, voice raw and eyes darkening. "Answer me, Oswald." 

"Hell yes," Oswald whimpers. He wishes he had enough strength left in his body for another erection, but he's pretty sure he won't manage. Or won't notice if he does, because he's deeply lost in the sensation of Ed choking him again, floating between the fear of suffocation and the electrifying pleasure of its possibility. 

"Show me your throat," Ed orders, and Oswald doesn't need to consider what he's going to do when he lifts his chin obediently. Ed presses the edge of the knife into his skin; not deeply enough to even leave a mark just yet, but Oswald can feel the firm grip of his other hand, and he knows Ed has the strength to actually cut his throat. The strength; and the determination. 

Ed rocks into him and kisses him, licking his mouth open and biting his tongue. 

"God I love you," he groans, and then he's coming inside Oswald, his fingers tightening around his neck, and Oswald isn't sure if this is right, but he's going to die happily if Ed strangles him now by accident. 

He doesn't. 

He pulls out of Oswald and eases him back to the ground, then rests his forehead against his shoulder. Oswald hugs him close, partly to kiss his neck, partly to keep him from collapsing. 

"Are you alright?" Ed mumbles. 

"More than that. Even though this is not how I planned our wedding night." Oswald's hands are caressing Ed's lower back now, trying to soothe him if he can. "I booked a hotel room with a large double bed, you know. The receptionist even promised me that it would be decorated with roses. And that a bottle of champagne would be waiting for us in the bathroom. But I'm afraid she was blushing when she said that." 

"Shower sex?" Ed looks up at him, and thank god, he's grinning. "Kinky." 

"Yeah. I mean, nothing kinkier than that." 

Ed chuckles softly and nuzzles his neck. 

"I don't mind at all that we didn't take it back to the hotel. This was the best wedding night I ever had." 

Oswald rolls his eyes at him. "It's not over yet, you know." 

"What do you mean, darling?" 

"Nothing important. Just subtly implying that I have two whole weeks to do whatever I want to do with you. Also, that you won't be leaving the bed for those two weeks. Once we get to that bed, of course." 

"What a charming idea." Ed kisses him again, lazily, while simultaneously tucking himself back into his trousers. "Interesting, I was planning the same thing for you." 

"Interesting." 

 

Ed walks him back to the corpse. 

"Just a quick addition I'd like to make," he announces, and he pulls the assassin's knife from Oswald's pocket. It still has Oswald's blood on it, but it's drying slowly. Ed kneels and bares the chest of the boy, carefully, only touching him with a new handkerchief. 

He wipes the knife before positioning it under one of the boy's nipples; touching it gently at first, then pushing it into his cold flesh, carving a large question mark into his torso. 

"Why?" Oswald asks, and Ed shrugs, folding the boy's clothes over the wound again. 

"Imagine the face of Jim when he sees it," he says. There's a new, different shine inside his eyes, one that could be scaring Oswald away, and one that seems strangely familiar instead. "He'll know it's a message. He'll now something happened here and he'll be willing to die to find out what. But he'll never catch us." 

Oswald puts a hand on his shoulder, and squeezes it gently. 

"We should go." 

"Yes, we should." Ed takes Oswald's hand off his shoulder, and kisses his knuckles softly. He stands up then, and before turning away from the corpse, he kicks it experimentally. 

Oswald only raises an eyebrow at him this time. 

"He almost killed my husband," Ed explains. "I felt that's the least he deserves, even though it didn't feel like a nice thing to do." 

"Killing him wasn't nice either," Oswald shrugs. 

"But it did feel nice." 

"Yes. And let's go now, Eddie." Oswald tugs at his hand, and Ed starts walking finally, leaving the corpse with his mark behind. 

They get back to the corner—their corner, Oswald thinks, and he has to smile for a second. 

"You know," he decides to say then, "I think I've seen that guy before." 

"What?" Ed snaps at him. "Who the hell is he?" 

"One of Fish's people. I've never seen him run like this before, but I'm pretty sure it was him." 

"Why the hell would Fish want to see you dead?" 

"I don't know, maybe because I turned my back on her when she entered the underworld instead of helping me become mayor?" Oswald swallows an anxious laugh. "Looks like she turned me into a criminal anyway, doesn't it?" 

Ed stops and grabs both of his wrists. 

"You're wrong," he says strictly. "She didn't make you a murderer; you did. Whatever you do, it's not influenced by her anymore, do you understand?" 

"Well, it will be if I start hobbling one day. She once promised to break every last bone in my leg if I ever cross her path again." He pats his right thigh roughly. "This one. I can sometimes feel it go limp, like she's already done it." 

Ed pulls him close and plants a gentle kiss on his forehead. 

"She'll never do that to you," he whispers, his voice still hard but somehow reassuring at the same time. "You defeated her today, and I'll be here to help you defeat her again. I'll kill for you, Oswald. Just like you killed for me." 

Oswald finds the strength to look up at him, and he can see a slightly too enthusiastic smile spread across Ed's face. He stands on his tiptoes to kiss it away; and Ed's lips taste sweet and enticing, just like the power they'll have over their citizens once they rule their kingdom in this new, thrilling, bloody way. Once they rule it properly. 

"Of course you will, Eddie. And you'll love it." 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this!
> 
> Comments are always appreciated ♥
> 
> More Nygmobblepot trash on my tumblr @[stuckinthosefandoms](http://stuckinthosefandoms.tumblr.com/)


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